Chapter 97
In Chapter 63 of “Dreams Folding Into Broken Time,” Savannah finds herself in a tense confrontation with a figure of authority, who is pressing her for the truth about her past, particularly concerning her relationship with Asher Kingston. The chapter opens with Savannah feeling overwhelmed and defensive, instinctively avoiding eye contact as she grapples with the weight of her father’s accusations. The atmosphere is thick with tension as she realizes that her fate hinges on her ability to articulate her side of the story, which brings forth a flood of suppressed memories.
As she recalls the painful events surrounding her affair with Asher, her emotions spiral from shame to fear, and she feels trapped in a cycle of anxiety. The memories of her youth, filled with reckless decisions and misguided notions of love, come rushing back. Savannah struggles to find her voice, her anxiety manifesting physically as she grips her knees and digs her nails into her skin for grounding. The mention of Kingston evokes a visceral reaction, pulling her back to a time when she felt both exhilarated and ultimately betrayed.
Savannah recounts her relationship with Asher, describing him as charming and captivating, which initially made her feel special and loved. However, the thrill of their secret affair soon turned into a source of disgrace when it was exposed, leading to her father’s condemnation. The emotional turmoil she experiences is palpable as she reflects on how she was manipulated into believing she needed Asher, and how the fallout shattered not only her reputation but also her sense of self-worth.
Despite her vulnerability, Savannah is met with a stoic response from the person she confides in, leaving her feeling exposed and uncertain. The chapter culminates in a chilling moment when he reveals that the version of events he heard differs from hers, leaving Savannah to grapple with the implications of this revelation. The weight of her confession hangs heavy in the air, and as the chapter closes, the reader is left with a sense of foreboding about the consequences of her truths being laid bare.
**Chapter 63: Just… Speak p>
“I have no idea what you’re talking about p>
The words escape my lips in a rush, sharper than I intended, and I instinctively turn my gaze toward the window. Anything to avoid meeting his eyes, which feel like they can see right through me.
“Sav.” His voice is unwavering, calm, almost soothing. He crosses one leg over the other, a picture of serene authority that sends my heart racing. “Maybe you don’t fully grasp what’s at stake here p>
Suddenly, I feel like I’m on trial for a crime I didn’t commit. He’s the judge, and my fate hangs in the balance of his decision.
He intertwines his fingers and rests them on his knee, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that feels almost suffocating. “Your father has laid some significant accusations at your feet today. And honestly…” He tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “I don’t buy it. I’m here to hear your side. What happened with the Kingstons p>
The name strikes me like a physical blow. Kingston. My chest constricts, and the air around me feels thin and stifling. The mention of it drags me back through time to a night I thought I had buried deep, to whispers I’ve trained myself to forget.
I freeze. My body is here, perched on the edge of the bed, but my heartbeat has transported me somewhere else entirely… Back to the sound of a locked office door, the scent of chalk dust mingling with paper and cologne.
I cling to my own skin, terrified that if I let go, I’ll unravel completely.
Desperately, I grip my knees, digging my nails into the fabric, seeking some form of grounding.
“Savannah?” His voice softens, cutting through the turmoil.
I force myself to lift my eyes to his, only to drop them again almost immediately. My lips move before I can rein them in. “What did he tell you p>
He shrugs casually, a nonchalant gesture that belies the weight of the conversation. “His own version. But that’s not the one I want to hear. I need to know your truth p>
The floor beneath me seems to tilt dangerously. His words are steady, but mine scatter like leaves caught in a tempest. A wave of shame washes over me.
“I don’t know how to begin,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“You don’t have to start from anywhere specific,” he reassures me, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You’re talking to your best friend, Sav. Just… speak p>
I dig my nails into my thighs through the fabric, desperate for something to hold onto. The crescents my nails leave behind serve as a reminder of my anxiety as I take a jagged breath. “I was young.” The words scrape against my throat, raw and unpolished. “Really young. And foolish. And reckless. And wild p>
The list spills out too quickly, rehearsed like lines from a play I’ve performed far too many times. My chest heaves, but I push through. “And he… he was handsome, charming, and he smiled a lot. Too much p>
My mouth twists as I struggle to articulate the memories, but my shoulders betray me, curling inward as if bracing for an impending blow.
I steal a glance at Roman. His expression remains unreadable, his posture elegant and composed, untouched by the storm of emotions I’m laying bare. It feels as if I’m airing my dirty laundry in front of him.
“Go on, Sav. I’m here, and I’m listening p>
I swallow hard, but the lump in my throat feels like a stone. My jaw locks tightly, and I can feel the ache radiating through my teeth, a migraine threatening to take hold.
“His name was Asher Kingston,” I finally manage to say, my voice low and fragile. The sound of his name feels like fire. “He was my professor in college p>
My stomach twists painfully. My palms are clammy, and I find myself fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve, pulling at the loose threads as if they could somehow offer me comfort.
“And I…” My lips part, but the words refuse to come. I shut my eyes tightly, forcing it out. “I had an affair with him p>
The weight of that revelation hangs heavily in the air between us.
I can’t bear to look at him. My gaze drops to the rug beneath my feet, focusing on a frayed edge that unravels thread by thread.
Silence engulfs us, pressing in from all sides, suffocating.
Shame claws its way up my throat. The words feel borrowed, as if they were stolen from a script written by someone else, forced into my mouth. Yet I’ve recounted this story so many times, even to myself, that sometimes I almost manage to believe it.
Almost.
My body knows better. My shoulders tense, my hands tremble, and my chest rises and falls too quickly, as if I’ve sprinted miles.
“I thought I was special,” I blurt out, the words tumbling out in a chaotic rush. “I thought… I thought it was love. That he was saving me when no one else would p>
My voice falters, and I press my palms together, the friction igniting a burn between them.
“I was twenty-one. Reckless. I wanted to be chosen, to be noticed. Loved. And he knew exactly what to say, how to make me believe I was special p>
A tremor runs down my arms, and I rub them quickly, as though trying to ward off a chill that isn’t there.
“At first, it felt… exhilarating. Like a secret worth keeping. The thrill was intoxicating.” My words come out flat, devoid of emotion. “But when people found out…” I pause, bracing myself for the worst part. “When his wife discovered everything, it shattered everything. My father… he said I brought disgrace upon him. That I tarnished the family name p>
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
“But no one ever understood what it truly was,” I add softly, my voice barely a whisper. My nails dig into my palms now, carving half-moons into my skin. “No one saw how he made me believe I needed him, that I couldn’t… shouldn’t say no p>
I catch myself, realizing I’ve revealed too much. My chest is heaving, and my throat feels raw.
I force a shaky exhale, attempting to don my mask once more. “That’s the truth p>
I glance up at him, searching for any sign of understanding, sympathy, anything. But his face remains composed, marble-smooth, his eyes like green pools that reveal nothing.
I can feel the tears threatening to spill, but I swallow them back down. Not now. I won’t let them fall.
“So,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel inside. “That’s my version. Whatever my father told you, it isn’t the entire story p>
The silence stretches on, long enough to suffocate me. The clock ticks somewhere in the distance, each second a hammer against my ribs.
He leans back slowly, one hand running along his jaw as if weighing the words I’ve just laid bare. His gaze lingers on me, unblinking and steady.
Finally, he speaks, his voice low and controlled, laced with an emotion I can’t quite identify.
“That’s not the version I heard p>
The air leaves my lungs in an instant.
His words fall between us like a blade, and suddenly I’m unsure if I’ve buried myself deeper or if he’s about to unearth the truth even further.
In the aftermath of my confession, the weight of my past hangs heavily in the air, a palpable tension that binds us in a fragile silence. I’ve peeled back layers of myself that I thought were long buried, exposing the raw, jagged edges of my truth to Roman. The memories of Asher Kingston, once cloaked in shame and regret, now spill forth like a torrent, leaving me vulnerable and exposed. I can feel the tremors of my fear and anxiety reverberate through me, yet there’s a flicker of something else—an inkling of liberation. The act of speaking my truth, however painful, has begun to untangle the knots of my shame, allowing me to breathe a little easier, even as I brace for the judgment that may follow.
As Roman absorbs my words, I search his face for understanding, for any sign that my truth has found a home in his heart. The stillness between us feels charged with potential; I’ve laid my soul bare, and now I wait with bated breath for his response. It’s a moment suspended in time, where the past collides with the present, and I am left grappling with the uncertainty of what lies ahead. Will he see me as I am, or will the shadows of my past continue to loom over me? In this fragile space, I realize that the journey to reclaim my narrative has only just begun. With every beat of my heart, I remind myself that truth, no matter how painful, is the first step toward healing, and perhaps, just perhaps, I can emerge from the darkness into a light that feels like freedom.
**What to Expect in the Next Chapter p>
In the upcoming chapter, the tension between Savannah and Roman will reach a boiling point as the implications of her confession about Asher Kingston reverberate through their fragile friendship. As Savannah grapples with the weight of her past, she will be forced to confront not only her own feelings of shame and regret but also the potential fallout from her revelations. Roman, having heard a different version of events from her father, will challenge Savannah to dig deeper into her memories and emotions. This confrontation could either bring them closer together or fracture their bond irrevocably. Expect the air to crackle with unspoken truths as Savannah fights to reclaim her narrative while Roman wrestles with the burden of the secrets he carries.
Moreover, the chapter promises to delve into the complexities of trust and betrayal, as Savannah must decide whether she can truly open up to Roman or if her past will continue to haunt her. The stakes are higher than ever, and with each passing moment, the pressure mounts. Will Savannah find the strength to face her demons, or will the shadows of her past continue to loom large, threatening to engulf her once more? As the clock ticks ominously in the background, readers will be left on the edge of their seats, eager to uncover the truth that lies just beneath the surface. Prepare for an emotional rollercoaster that will leave you questioning who to believe and what it truly means to be vulnerable.
Sara Lili
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.